


The Ultimate Match

by Rizobact



Series: Festival of the Five [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Additional Character Cameos, Aliases, Destiny, Festival of the FIve, Letters, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Minor Violence, Political Themes, Religious Themes, Two Mechs Who Want to Change the World, spark bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-09 19:09:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7813711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rizobact/pseuds/Rizobact
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sparked a warrior, Megatron retires from the military after campaigning successfully off-world only to discover prejudice at home. He starts a movement to stir up change, writing to anyone he thinks might support their cause including Optimus Prime, the newly chosen Prime struggling to overcome a power imbalance between the Temple and the Senate created by his predecessor. Destiny brings them together and time brings them closer, but there are obstacles that would keep them apart - obstacles that can only be overcome through the Festival of the Five.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Destiny in the Mailroom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kijikun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kijikun/gifts).



> Commissioned by [kijikun](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kijikun/pseuds/kijikun)/[manicpixiedreamdragon](http://manicpixiedreamdragon.tumblr.com/) (thank you so much!), who wanted to know how Optimus and Megatron got together in the Festival of the Five AU (see series/collection for more info if you're interested/not familiar). Happy birthday to the AU! A year on and going strong <3
> 
> Set 50+ vorns prior to the events of [Winner Takes All](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4583418/chapters/10439841), this is their story from where their paths first cross to the culmination in the gladiatorial-style trial-by-combat that is the Challenge of Mortilus.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all begins with a letter...

_Greetings Optimus Prime._

"Really? You're writing the Prime now too?" Impactor snorted as he read over Megatron's shoulder. "That's as big a waste of time as all that poetry of yours."

Megatron paused in his composition. "You didn't say anything about the letters I sent to the senators," he said calmly, looking back at Impactor from his seat. "Were those a waste of time as well?"

"Have you gotten any responses from them?"

"Not yet," Megatron started to say, but Impactor cut him off.

"Then yeah, they were a waste of time." The other mech came around and sat down on the bench beside Megatron, facing out into the training room and leaning back against the long table. "Our situation isn't one you're gonna be able to fix with your fancy words. You really think the mechs in charge don't know how bad it is? They know, they just don’t care."

Megatron frowned. “We need to _make_ them care,” he argued, not for the first time. “If we are to have any real, lasting improvements to our lives here we need the cooperation of the mechs in government. They are the ones with the power to make and enforce the changes we seek.”

For once, Impactor didn’t take up the well-worn debate and simply sat in silence, looking out at the other mechs engaged in various activities around the room. Megatron knew what he was thinking just the same — those changes shouldn’t have been necessary in the first place.

This wasn’t the life Megatron had envisioned when he retired from active duty. Like Impactor and most of the mechs here, Megatron had served several terms in the military in the off-world colony campaigns. He had risen in the ranks swiftly, his career a series of victories and promotions culminating with becoming a full general. Despite his successes, however, Megatron had been more than ready to be done with fighting after the final subdual and colonization of Chaar. That engagement had been long, grueling, and brutal, and he had been honorably discharged after its end by his request.

Unfortunately, off-world success in the military meant very little on Cybertron itself, for all that he had been respected and even called a hero by many of his fellow soldiers. The prevalent attitude at home was that warframes were violent and dangerous and that all they knew how to do was fight. Megatron had initially scoffed at such narrow-minded views, but time had proven how powerful they were. Finding employers who would hire them or places where they could afford to live without distrustful neighbors harassing them was impossible in many places, and difficult everywhere else.

After much searching without success across Cybertron, Megatron had found himself back in his home city of Kaon, still with no prospects. There he discovered a large community of other former soldiers struggling to make ends meet. The cost of living outstripped even an officer’s pension without supplementary income, which wasn’t easy to find… legally, anyway. Hiring on as a bouncer or bodyguard were sometimes options, but most of the establishments looking for that kind of help were in the lower districts of Kaon and questionable at best. The thought of resorting to illegal activities to get by had been abhorrent to Megatron, though there were plenty of mechs who did.

In the end he had sacrificed something other than his ethics: instead of being able to leave battle behind him as he had hoped to, he eventually found steady ‘employment’ in fighting for sport and spectacle. There was huge demand for pit fighters and gladiators, particularly in Kaon, and Megatron was one of the best.

Still, his victories in the arena felt hollow. They did nothing to change the fact that the general populace thought all he and his kind were good for was fighting. Megatron had thought long and hard on the problem before coming to a conclusion: he had fought for the government, he had fought for money; now he would fight for his fellow mechs and for justice, using a stylus instead of a sword.

Most of those fellow mechs thought that was a losing battle that could not be won at first, especially those like Impactor who had been out of the army longer than Megatron. He didn’t let it discourage him — he had his supporters, though they were few and growing slowly in number for now. Megatron was no stranger to the long campaign. This was only one of the first steps of many.

Megatron had gone back to his writings when Impactor spoke again unexpectedly. “Writing to the Prime’s a bigger waste of time than writing to the senators. If you’re trying to get someone in politics to help us, the Temple’s the wrong place to be looking.”

“Soundwave: agrees,” came a synthesized monotone. Megatron set down his letter again as his former lieutenant and communications officer joined them. “Prime: cannot help us.”

“We can’t know that unless we reach out to him,” Megatron countered. “It doesn’t hurt to include him. Besides, isn’t the purpose of the Temple to come to the aid of those with no other recourse?”

Impactor laughed while Soundwave said nothing. Neither were particularly religious and had little to no faith in the gods or the Temple, though they both knew that Megatron did. He simply tempered his belief with the understanding that the Temple, like any mortal establishment, had its failings. He would readily admit that the previous Prime hadn’t exactly been the best. However, there was no reason not to make their case to the new Prime as far as he was concerned. If nothing else, all it cost him was the effort it took to write a single letter — and send a prayer.

“Go ahead then, send your letter,” Impactor said when his laughter failed to get a rise out of Megatron. He stood from the bench and stretched to loosen his cables. “Just don’t expect any more of a response than you got from the senators.”

“Letter: destined to be buried in administration. Prime: will never see it,” Soundwave intoned cynically.

“If that’s the case, so be it,” Megatron said, his conviction unwavering. “I am still going to send it. It may have a different destiny than you think.”

***

The slightly weathered-looking datapad caught the Prime's attention just as he was leaving the Archives. Humble as it appeared, something about it felt significant. An older model, its edges showed signs of wear and the dataport was surrounded by scratches from multiple uses. The screen was dull, but intact, and the resting text showed it was addressed to him.

"What is this?" Optimus asked curiously, pausing at the corner of Scrivener's desk to pick it up and examine it more closely.

"My Lord Prime!" The cleric had been so absorbed in his task that the deep voice startled him. His stylus nearly slipped from his fingers as his head jerked up, followed swiftly by the rest of him as he rose from his seat. "I thought you had already left! Don't you have a dedication this afternoon?"

"Yes, and I should already have been on my way," Optimus smiled. "I find it difficult to leave this place, however."

"You always did." Scrivener would know; the two of them had worked together for many vorns, serving the Temple of Primus and the office of the Prime in the attached Hall of Records. "Do I need to chase you out again?"

Optimus chuckled, the sound reverberating gently around the room. "Perhaps, but tell me first — where did this come from?"

"Let me see." Scrivener reached for the datapad and Optimus passed it to him. He sat back down, turning to his terminal to scan the device and pull up its information. "This came with a batch of correspondence and petitions last decaorn. The mail room just forwarded it this morning."

"Why was it sent to you and not to me?"

Scrivener fixed Optimus with a look. "You _know_ the Temple receives too many messages for the Prime to devote his personal attention to all of them," he admonished. "It would have been brought to you if the Archive flagged it later as a repeat supplicant or found significant key words."

Optimus frowned and leaned in to search the screen for a return address. "Yes, and in the meantime this… Megatron of Kaon… would have received nothing more than a formula reply to his spark-felt appeal."

Before his unexpected and rather sudden elevation to the Primacy less than a decavorn ago, Optimus, then Orion Pax, had been responsible for sending some of those messages on behalf of his predecessor. It might have been necessary to delegate the work, but he had wished then as he did now that there was a better way. Many of those tasked with the job had a stock set of responses drafted to chose from depending on the content of the letter they were answering. As such, their answers were not always applicable or helpful to the recipient. Optimus, on the other hand, had always taken the time to write an individual reply to each and every one that crossed his desk.

He still did, as much as possible. It was an ongoing struggle to get his staff to send him the letters in the first place though. They sorted with extreme prejudice, and clearly this datapad, whatever was on it, hadn't made the cut. "I do not see a summary of the contents," Optimus observed.

"That’s because I haven't had a chance to catalogue it yet," Scrivener replied. "They didn't finish entering it into the system before they sent it up. Inexcusable, given how long it took them to process it this far!" He looked like he wanted to start on a rant about lax standards among the lower clerical staff, but a glance at the decorative chronometer on the desk cut him off before he could begin. "I'll take care of it. _You_ need to get going."

"I am going," Optimus said, straightening and holding out his hand for the datapad. "And I am taking that with me."

"Optimus," Scrivener said warningly, foregoing his proper title. "You don't even know what's on it. It might not be important at all."

"Then it will not take long to answer it." Optimus kept his hand where it was, waiting patiently. With a sigh, Scrivener handed it over. "Thank you, my friend," Optimus smiled warmly as he took it, ignoring the mech's muttered exasperation. "Until next time."

The Hall of Records wasn't all that far from the Temple, so Optimus walked back instead of driving. He had just reached his office and was putting the datapad away to look at later when he was joined by the Iaconian noblemech who often served as his escort. His sparkline held a hereditary position with the Temple, but Mirage was no mere priest. He was an astute political scholar and a sorely needed advisor to the relatively new Prime. He was also, though few knew it, a highly trained bodyguard, and a close friend as well.

"We were beginning to worry you would be late," Mirage said. There was a glint of amusement in his amber optics behind the half-mask he wore, though his expression was as cool and neutral as his voice. "What did you find to distract yourself with this time?"

"Something that can wait," Optimus said. "I will be ready in a moment."

The barest of approving smiles graced Mirage's features as Optimus finished straightening his desk and made sure he had what he needed for the ceremony. Optimus could guess at the reason — every now and then, especially after visiting the Archives and being reminded of his former life, his insecurities would surface and manifest in overly long explanations or apologies. This time he had managed to avoid either. It made him smile as well.

Optimus joined Mirage to drive out to the dedication site with little further delay, trying to put the datapad out of his thoughts.

***

The dedication and subsequent gala lasted for a while so it wasn't until quite some time later that Optimus was able to return to his office. Mirage followed after him, curious as he pulled the datapad back out and powered it up again.

"This is what was responsible for your distraction all night?" he asked, taking in the lightly battered device. "Is this another of your charity cases?" It wasn't said unkindly. Mirage had worked with the previous Prime who, in his decline, had slowly withdrawn from doing anything other than what was absolutely required of him. He had officiated at the Temple but taken little interest in the more political aspects of the Primacy, letting public works and relations slide by the wayside. Optimus' enthusiasm for taking on additional projects was something Mirage found refreshing and admirable, even if he didn't always agree with the causes he chose.

After reading only the first few lines of the file, Optimus knew this would be one of those causes they disagreed on. "Not yet."

"Oh?" The single syllable expressed so much. Optimus looked over at Mirage and saw suspicion. Perhaps his own short statement had been just as dense with layered meaning. "What is the petition this time? Another plea for housing improvements in lower Polyhex? A solicitation for your support in obtaining financing for the highway repairs in Uraya?"

"No," Optimus shook his helm, continuing to read what he recognized was a cover letter attached to a large aggregation of data. "This is not a request for shanix." Which was Mirage's only real objection to projects like the ones he'd mentioned. It had been a lesson in frustration for them both (and many other mechs too) for Optimus to learn where their budget limitations lay, no matter how much he wanted to help everyone who sought the Temple out for aid.

"Then, what?" Mirage's suspicion, if anything, had deepened rather than relenting.

Optimus held up a hand to forestall him saying anything else as he finished reading, then offered him the datapad. "See for yourself."

Mirage took it delicately, regarding Optimus for a long moment before turning his optics to the text and reading aloud. "Greetings Optimus Prime...

_...my name is Megatron. I write to you on behalf of we who have fought for the protection and glory of Cybertron. On distant colonies our energon has been spilt, our sparks extinguished on foreign worlds far from the Well that our home might remain safe and prosperous. Yet for those of us who do not expire on the field of battle, the fighting does not end with our homecoming._

_My brothers and I would make the transition to civilian life. We seek a new function, only to find ourselves fighting harder for our survival on Cybertron than we fought off-world. Prejudice forces us into ghettos, discrimination bars us from work, and the few laws meant in theory to prevent such things are ineffective or go unenforced. Many of us are starving, homeless, un- or underemployed with no hope or prospects. Many of us have been driven to criminal activities by necessity, not by desire, and their persecution paints us in increasingly negative colors. It is a worsening spiral of desperation and destitution, and it is a terrible injustice to the loyal creations of Primus for their service._

_Were our sacrifices worth nothing? Are the sparks of soldiers not sacred to Primus outside of war? If our only purpose is to die on the battlefield, why then has He not recalled us all before now? The treatment we receive at the hands of our fellow Cybertronians would indicate we have no value here, that our tasks are complete, and yet we still function. No longer military in anything but build, we still function. To what purpose, if not to live? And how, if we are not allowed to live? For what has Primus safeguarded our sparks, if there are no further contributions for us to make?_

_It should not be so. I have enclosed a collection of relevant statistics gathered by those trying, like me, to find a place to call our own, as well as several personal testimonies, my own experiences upon returning from the campaigns on Chaar these few vorns past included. Having sent these previously to the governors and senators to no avail, I now make our appeal to you. Help to raise awareness of our cause and aid us in our struggle to be recognized as the mechs we are, not the weapons we were._

_This, I believe, is the purpose for which I still function — to fight this last campaign on the home front for fair treatment, opportunity, and equality. May Primus bless our endeavors that we may see success._

There was a long silence after Mirage finished reading. The moment hung between them, frozen, until finally the spell broke. "No," he said firmly. "No. You cannot take this on."

"I will hear your objections," Optimus said fairly, though he made no promises to abide by them. Mirage's counsel was always useful, even when Optimus went against it. The noble could point out pitfalls he never would have seen on his own, his criticisms sometimes helping Optimus to succeed where he would otherwise have failed. "Do you believe that his cause is unworthy?"

"Not at all," Mirage said smoothly. "However, the campaign he speaks of is a _political_ campaign, the sort of thing that ought to go through the Senate not the Temple."

"He claims the Senate will not hear him."

"He is seeking new legislature regarding labor and housing laws and possibly changes to the judicial system," Mirage countered. "The Temple may support certain reforms, but this is a civil matter, not a religious one. You have no involvement in this."

Optimus disagreed on that point, but did not immediately argue it. This Megatron was right — Optimus felt it in his spark and from the artifact that pulsed beside it. All sparks were sacred to Primus, and their suffering was not something He would ignore. Not when they had come to Him for His help.

That conviction must have shown because Mirage took on a contemplative look, then sighed. "I can see you feel differently. Very well. If you intend to proceed, then I strongly advise you do so with caution and discretion." He frowned minutely. "You will make enemies in the Senate if you broach this with them, beyond those who already oppose you."

It went unsaid, but Optimus heard the implication. He already came up against resistance from several senators whenever he proposed any changes and this would only make it harder to accomplish things for both Megatron and the veterans and for any of Optimus’ other projects. He was still too new a Prime and the Senate too used to maintaining the status quo (and their standard of living) to be as effective as he someday hoped to be as an advocate for the common mech.

His engine gave a frustrated growl. There had to be something he could do! This had come to him for a reason, and he could not ignore it any more than he could ignore the pull of the Matrix.

Optimus reached for the datapad again and began scrolling through some of the attached figures while Mirage waited silently. He had seen statistics like these before, in the Archives… the Archives, which he could visit without anyone being suspicious and where he could query additional data that Megatron didn't have access to. Sending the mech his findings and perhaps suggesting some of the more sympathetic senators to continue reaching out to was a contribution Optimus could make entirely under the radar because he didn't need to be the Prime to do it. This was a task that a simple, ordinary data clerk could do.

"Mirage," he said happily, sitting down to his desk and picking up a new, blank datapad. "I believe I have a solution."

 _Greetings Megatron,_ he wrote. _My name is Orion Pax._


	2. Falling in Love with Someone You’ve Never Met

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even in a technologically advanced civilization, simple correspondence is a powerful thing.

Despite his encouraging words to Soundwave, Megatron hadn’t really been all that optimistic that anything would come of his letter to the Prime. He expected at most to get a short form letter from someone in the Prime’s office, thanking him for writing and telling him that the Prime took his concerns very seriously but there was nothing he could do at the present time. It hadn’t bothered him too much. These things, he knew, often took more than one attempt to get any real attention. His intent from the start had been to write a series of letters, not just a single round of them.

As such, the bright, clean datapad came as just as much of a surprise to him as anyone when it arrived.

He’d come back to his quarters after a match to find Soundwave waiting for him with the unfamiliar device in hand. “Message: arrived from Iacon,” he announced. “Intended recipient: Megatron.”

“Really?” Megatron reached out to see for himself. “And have you already reviewed it?”  Just like when they had served together, Soundwave still handled a large number of administrative tasks for Megatron. It was something the silver warrior was grateful for, as it gave him the ability to focus on building their small following into a real movement.

“Affirmative.” A scrolling display of data appeared on the screen surmounting Soundwave’s solid face mask. It moved too quickly for Megatron to read it in detail, but he could make out that it was a large amount of data and that it pertained to labor statistics and civil dispute cases in Iacon. “Message: accompanied by additional statistics in line with prior research.”

“Useful statistics, I hope?” Megatron said, powering up the datapad. That was even more unlikely than just getting a response at all, and both of them knew it. “Who is it from?”

Soundwave gave no reply, but none was really necessary. He was clearly still in the process of answering the first question, and the cover letter, much like the one Megatron himself had written, that appeared when the datapad turned on answered the second.

“Orion Pax,” Megatron murmured, reading through the introduction. “So a clerk in the Prime’s office has taken an interest in our cause?” Rather than filing Megatron’s letter away to be forgotten, this mech had apparently taken it upon himself personally to assist them, pulling data from the Archives in Iacon on their behalf.

_ This is merely the beginning of what I hope to be able to send you. As time permits around my duties, I intend to continue my research and will forward you any additional findings, if it would be of use to you. From what I can see, the situation you speak of appears to be a significant and growing problem facing all of Cybertron’s warrior class. I would be interested to hear more from you about your observations, concerns, and goals. _

_ Yours, Orion _

Megatron regarded Soundwave thoughtfully. “A possible ally then, if an unexpected one,” he said, sitting down at his desk. “Perhaps this Orion can be persuaded to help spread our words beyond the borders of Kaon. I know I don’t need to ask your opinion regarding his offer.”

“Additional data: always useful,” Soundwave replied to Megatron’s knowing grin. Soundwave might not have finished analyzing  _ how  _ useful what had already been sent was, but a mech who worked in intelligence never turned down more information. Anything could be important, once it was all brought together.

Megatron chuckled. “Yes. I will have to thank him and let him know we would appreciate anything else he can provide.” Leaving Soundwave to his work, Megatron turned to the datapad and started drafting a response.

So began an ongoing series of letters between Megatron and Optimus Prime, writing as Orion Pax. At first they simply continued to send messages on datapads, Optimus attaching letters to his research while Megatron sent his along with additional personal writings and minor publications related to the cause. Their exchanges weren’t regular and there were occasionally long gaps in between letters as a result of their respective other responsibilities, but invariably just when one or the other would begin to wonder if the letters had stopped for good, a new one would appear at last.

“Back again, my Lord Prime?” Scrivener looked up from his desk as Optimus entered the Archives trailed by Mirage, datapad in hand. “We’ve been seeing a lot more of you recently.”

“I am finding it useful to conduct my own research on certain matters,” Optimus said, nodding to the small scribe as they headed back into the stacks. “It is easier that way to be sure nothing was overlooked or presented to me with additional bias.” 

“Not to mention it makes it easier to keep secret precisely  _ what  _ you are researching,” Mirage said archly once they were out of audial range. He had not expected Optimus to persist in communicating with Megatron beyond the first couple of letters, but he had agreed to help the Prime maintain his fictions however long they lasted. It would be very unpleasant for everyone if either the Senate found out what he was up to or Megatron learned who Orion really was. “May I say again that I believe you should end your involvement now before it becomes even more difficult to extricate yourself?”

Optimus looked down at Mirage and the subtle frustration in his optics. He was thankful for the mailbox the mech had set up for Orion’s use, though he suspected Mirage had done so largely so that he could check whatever Megatron sent before passing it along. It also provided him a chance to review Optimus’ outgoing letters to be sure he hadn’t compromised his cover.

“You may,” Optimus said noncommittally, hiding his own growing frustration as he reached for a bookfile on a top shelf, an old anthropological study of the ghettos and class issues in Rodion. Megatron’s most recent letter had been more personal than any to date, and Optimus was finding that he enjoyed talking to someone just as a mech, rather than as the Prime. He wondered if Mirage’s question had been prompted by the fact that they were writing to each other less as professional acquaintances and more as something closer. He was starting to wish that there was no one else looking over his letters with a critical optic.

Of course, he had no way of knowing that far away in Kaon Soundwave was reading all of their correspondence as well, or that he, too, had noticed the gradual shift in the tone of their letters.

“Orion Pax: more than ally,” Soundwave commented as he delivered the latest arrival. He had finished uploading the enclosed research packet, though he hadn’t yet integrated it with their growing database. “Megatron and Orion: becoming  _ friends _ .”

“Is that a problem?” Megatron asked, looking shrewdly at Soundwave. “You haven’t objected to him before.”

That was true  — Soundwave had approved of Orion a great deal, in fact. The mech was helpful, interested, and asked thoughtful questions that indicated he gave things serious consideration before drawing conclusions. He was not a blind sycophant, which was a real mark in his favor and a nice change of pace compared to some of the more recent arrivals at the arena.

“OUR GLORIOUS LEADER DOES NOT NEED HELP DETERMINING WHO IS WORTHY TO FOLLOW HIM.” The bellowing voice carried across the entire mess hall. Megatron dialed back his audials as Lugnut walked heavily over to the bench he and Soundwave were occupying. “YOU SHOULD NOT QUESTION HIM.”

“At ease. I requested Soundwave’s opinion. I value his input, as I value yours,” Megatron told the behemoth. Lugnut was loyal almost to a fault and often took offense on Megatron’s behalf when it wasn’t really necessary. That issue with his coding was the reason he’d been released from the army after only a short time. He had imprinted on Megatron as his new commanding officer when they had first met, and his devotion was unshakable.

“AS MY MASTER COMMANDS.” Lugnut fell into a resting at-ease stance, unmoving from where he had stopped.

Soundwave waited to be sure he wasn’t about to interrupt again before he continued. “Orion Pax:  _ civilian _ ,” he said, layering the word with subglyphs.

The subtlety went over Lugnut’s head, but Megatron knew what he was getting at. Orion might be sympathetic to their plight, but he didn’t share their experiences. “You don’t believe he can ever fully understand us. On the contrary  — I believe he can. One of our primary goals is to break down those barriers separating the classes. Military or civilian, we are all Cybertronian, and while we may not have the same background we can still see things from the other’s perspective.”

He didn’t say, though he thought he saw a knowing tilt to Soundwave’s helm, that he felt that Orion understood him in ways the others didn’t precisely  _ because _ he wasn’t a warrior. 

[He will not become a distraction,] Megatron assured Soundwave over a private frequency. [He is a good mech, and his friendship will only strengthen our cause, not weaken it.]

And so it proved. Orion’s insights into history and legal and political systems across Cybertron turned out to be incredibly valuable as the movement finally started to gain some traction and attention from the local Kaonite government. His questions forced Megatron to think and formulate solid answers that he could then present to others with similar objections, and on more than one occasion his objections to Megatron’s proposed methodology led to a discussion where together they came up with a compromise that was even more effective than either of their ideas alone.

From his position in Iacon, Optimus watched as Megatron’s name slowly became more widely recognized. Mirage cautioned again that the Senate was still not ready to hear anything about him, but Optimus did not need the warnings to see the time was not yet right. He kept his sympathies to himself, even as it began to weigh on his spark. Mechs were suffering while the politicians played their little power games, and Optimus had no one with whom he could share that burden.

No one, that was, except for Megatron. At last, unable to endure the long wait between messages and feeling increasingly uncomfortable about their conversations not being private, Optimus set up a private digital dropbox on a small server. He snuck the information about it past Mirage by sending it on a datachip rather than with the next datapad, slipping it in with the regular outgoing mail one day as he left the Archives.

He thought for just a moment of offering a comm number as well so they could actually talk to each other instead of just writing but refrained as there were a couple of compelling reasons not to. Besides the issue of his voice, which was immediately recognizable and would destroy the illusion of Orion Pax with a single sentence, the low-ranking clerk Optimus was pretending to be didn’t have frequent access to long range inter-city comms for personal use. Fortunately neither did Megatron.

_ I often find myself wishing I could send you a short note from time to time rather than waiting to send a full letter,  _ the short memo on the datachip explained.  _ If our schedules ever happen to align, perhaps we could even use this dropbox as a way to have a conversation in real time via messages at some point. I know I, for one, would enjoy that. _

By coincidence or by fate, Soundwave was away scouting in Tarn when the datachip arrived. Megatron received it without anyone being the wiser. Orion’s suggestion instantly brought a smile to his face when he read it and as soon as he was able he went to check the dropbox. The only message there was a simple hello, but the sight of it warmed his spark.

_ I must confess to encountering a similar frustration from time to time,  _ he wrote back.  _ Your solution is commendable. Know that while the datanet may not always be as accessible to me as it is to you, I will log in when I can and, should a time present itself for such a conversation, I would greatly enjoy it as well. _

Optimus and Megatron both made frequent use of the dropbox alongside their usual exchanges after that. It wasn’t often that they both had the ability to repeatedly check messages at the same time for very long, which made ‘live’ conversations a rare pleasure, but otherwise they carried on in delayed responses whenever they could catch a moment or two.

Time continued to pass and they each began to rely on the other more  and more for support in their personal struggles. They shared their feelings, their hopes, and their fears. Speaking through the guise of the humble Orion ironically allowed Optimus to be surprisingly truthful about the difficulties he was facing as the Prime:

_ I am not able to do as much as I would like. All around me are things I wish I could influence, and I can only hope that someday I will be able to act on the suffering and injustices I see.  _

As far as Megatron knew, Orion was referring to the limitations of his minor position in the Archives. The sad truth was that even as the head of the Temple of Primus, Optimus was still subject to many of the same restrictions as his former self. Working to reestablish the Temple as an active power on a planetary scale was a long and arduous process. With the help of Mirage and others in the priesthood Optimus was beginning to see gradual improvement, but he still lacked the sway he needed to bring anything long-term before the Senate and have them consider it seriously. The only way to wear down their objections was to keep presenting a calm, constant, authoritative front, but that was no easy feat on the days when Optimus felt so ineffectual and helpless. Being able to turn to Megatron in those times was a great comfort to him, and he said as much.

Megatron informed him in return that having someone  _ he  _ could admit to feeling uncertain at times was a relief as well. The continued lack of significant change had some of his followers questioning him and Megatron knew that showing any doubt in front of them would be disastrous: 

_My progress has been slower than I had initially hoped._ _Sometimes it is a struggle to carry on. When you are on the battlefield you see the impact of your actions right away in a measurable form, whereas progress in politics seems to be measured in ground not lost. My conviction is still as strong as ever, but some days keeping my endurance from flagging can be a trial._

Then there were the days that his patience was tested more than his endurance.

“It doesn’t matter what you say, the mechs in power don’t have functioning audials,” Impactor growled. “The only time they pay attention to us is when we’re fighting in the pits, cutting each other down for their entertainment and profit!” He pounded his fist emphatically against the wall. “Maybe it’s time we cut a few of them down instead!”

“Don’t invoke my name if you do,” Megatron rumbled back at him, drawing himself up to his full height. “You will achieve nothing more than a moment’s satisfaction. If anything, your actions will only set back the progress we have made.”

“Progress? How can you say we’ve made  _ any _ progress? Unless that’s what you call Senator Ratbat working on a proposal to label our activities ‘subversive’ so he can start having us arrested,” Impactor spat sarcastically.

“That is nothing more than a rumor — ”

“For  _ now. _ ”

“ — but yes, that would be an indication of progress. It would be proof that we have become large enough and loud enough to be worth taking action against,” Megatron finished over Impactor’s interruption. “There are likely to be plenty of unjust arrests in our future. Are you really in such a hurry that you would hand them a legitimate case for assault, possibly even murder?”

Soundwave stepped in before things could escalate further. “Arrest for assault: bad publicity. Impactor: must be patient.” Megatron appreciated the mech’s cooler helm as the plain statement cut through the mounting aggression. “Perception of warriors as dangerous by the general populace: problematic.”

“And we mustn’t encourage that.” Megatron’s expression turned thoughtful. “Perhaps that is where we should turn our attention for the time being. Instead of continuing to chase after the politicians, we should shift our focus to public relations.”

“We’re already putting a lot of effort into recruitment,” Impactor pointed out, but Megatron shook his helm.

“That’s not what I mean. Our supporters from within our class will continue to grow, I have no doubt about that. What we don’t have are many mechs outside the ranks of retired or discharged soldiers and the otherwise destitute.” His optics brightened with enthusiasm. “The sympathy and support of the upper classes will go a long way in forcing the politicians to hear our grievances, and I already have an idea how we can begin appealing to them.”

“Oh yeah? And how’s that?”

Megatron’s grin was sharp, knowing his friend’s thoughts on the subject. “With poetry.”

They did more than that, of course. Megatron and Soundwave drew up a plan in several steps to begin chipping away at the stereotypes surrounding their frameclass in which poetry played only a small part. Still, Megatron enjoyed being able to share some of his older pieces again and having a reason to find the time to work on new ones. 

Feeling inspired, he attached several poems in his next exchange of documents with Orion on a whim, including some of the more personal ones not being published for the campaign. Accustomed as he was to Impactor’s ridicule, he had been a little nervous after they were sent out, but a datapad in the mail could not be recalled. He waited anxiously to hear from Orion, wondering if he even liked poetry.

The response he got incontrovertibly confirmed that he did: 

_ You have a genuine gift with words — trust someone who knows the Archives as well as I do to recognize that talent when I see it! I knew from your letters that you were a mech of depth and passion, but what you craft with your verse is extraordinary. You create a perfect experience, and I hope you will be willing to share many more with me. _

It was the nicest thing he’d ever heard anyone say about his poetry, and he struggled to find an appropriate reply:

_ I find there is freedom and truth in poetry that cannot be expressed in prose, though I fall short of attaining anything remotely resembling perfection. You flatter my words far beyond their due. Nonetheless, if you truly wish it, I would be happy to share more of them with you. _

And he did. They shared and discussed poems about a wide range of topics, learning even more about what they each valued than they had known before in the process. One of the things they discovered was important to both of them was faith. Megatron’s first letter had been religious in tone, but that letter had been to the Prime. Writing to Orion, he had refrained from bringing up religion outside of a political context for the same reason he had hesitated to share his poems at first: most mechs didn’t believe a soldier, even a well-educated and decorated general, could have a serious interest in either religion or poetry (much less  _ religious poetry _ ). He had grown tired of justifying himself, and it wasn’t until Orion displayed a similar interest in poetry and literature that he’d felt confident enough to bring up the subject again.

Optimus, who had initially shied away from talking about religion out of concern that Megatron might be offended by it or worse, guess who he really was, was overjoyed to be able to share that aspect of himself at last with his friend:

_ I have been told by some that my devotion is ‘old-fashioned’. Apparently the modern mech is one who gets by without the gods. If that is the case then I suppose I must be old-fashioned, for I cannot imagine such a life for myself. While others are within their freedom to choose to live without faith, I cannot ignore the connection I feel in my spark to our Creator. _

They had managed to find one of those precious times where they could both respond to messages immediately, and the Matrix felt warm in his chest when Optimus read Megatron’s response: 

_ Some things are too integral to who we are to ignore them, whatever others may say. I had worried you would consider my own beliefs mere superstition. A vast majority of soldiers pay lip service to Mortilus, but very few claim to have truly felt His presence on the battlefield. _

Of course a former soldier would honor Mortilus as well as Primus, Optimus thought. As the Prime he was closest to Primus of the five, but that didn’t make the other gods any less real. He felt profoundly grateful as he wrote back:

_ I offer Him a prayer of thanks for watching over you. Had you fallen in battle my spark still would have felt your loss even if it did not know why it mourned. So it would mourn to lose you now if anything were to befall you in the arena. I would be inconsolate without you. _

A moment of panic struck Optimus after hitting ‘send’ as he reread his own words. That had come out sounding much more intense than he’d intended it to, but it was completely true. For all that they lived across the planet and had never spoken outside of text, Megatron was dearer than any friend Optimus had ever had, and the realization shocked him. He  _ did  _ feel that strongly, even though they had never actually met.

But what would Megatron think, reading that? Optimus fought not to delete the message. There was no point; they were both online, he must have already seen it. The lack of any response at all was unsettling, however. The longer he waited the more Optimus agonized. Maybe Megatron was just taking his time composing a longer reply to his confession? Or maybe he had needed to leave suddenly and hadn’t seen it after all… unless he had been so disturbed by it that he wasn’t going to say anything at all —

**_PEACE_ **

The Prime stilled, his optics glowing bright at the sudden  _ presence. _ He turned his attention inward, meditating on the Matrix. The sensation didn’t waver, and strengthened as he focused on it. There were no words, just calm reassurance and approval, but it was enough. Optimus relaxed, releasing his anxiety to wait patiently for whatever response was coming.

When it finally appeared on the screen, what he read nearly filled his spark to bursting.

__

_A prayer to Mortilus_  
_Offered up before battle_  
_Guard this warrior's spark_  
_And if I should fall_  
_Guide it not to the Well_  
_It will find its own way_  
_To its brother_  
_Spark of my spark_  
_My brother_


	3. The Truth Will Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets don't keep forever, especially face to face.

Not long after their letters became love letters in earnest, Megatron began travelling from Kaon to other cities across Cybertron. Ostensibly he was doing it to fight in visiting matches at the home arenas in the cities he visited, but of course, his true motives were political. The events provided the perfect opportunity to meet and speak with sympathetic mechs all around the planet, to spread information and sway new supporters to the cause.

It was a twofold success. With the general populace, his fame increased dramatically. Many were calling him one of the greatest gladiators Cybertron had ever known  — good enough even, perhaps, to win the Challenge of Mortilus in the upcoming Festival. Megatron ignored the rumors. To him, the much more important outcome of his travels was his infamy as a political agitator. That was how the Senate viewed him, at least. Even without Optimus bringing the matter before them, they were forced to begin discussing Megatron and his agenda, albeit reluctantly. Opinions were highly polarized, but there was only one thing they could all readily agree on: one way or another, something would have to be done. There would be no more ignoring him thanks to the tour.

Unfortunately for Optimus, the tour also meant there would be no more hiding from the truth. He had intended to come clean right after that first poem, to tell Megatron who he really was and hope that he wouldn’t reject him, but the words just wouldn’t come. With each additional message that passed between them it had seemed more and more difficult until Optimus couldn’t pretend anymore that he was still going to tell him ‘soon’. Instead, he had put it off as long as possible, making things worse for himself in the process.

Cowardice. That was what it was, and he knew it. A disaster waiting to happen, and one he could have avoided if he’d just had the courage. Mirage would have told him so, had he been aware of how serious things had gotten between him and Megatron, but he didn’t. All he knew was that when Megatron eventually reached Iacon, the fiction would be over.

He didn’t know that Optimus dreaded spark break more than any other potential fallout from the shattering of that fiction.

“The announcement has been made,” Mirage told Optimus one morning, coming to him in his office with a pair of flyers. One was the official schedule for Megatron’s appearances at the Iacon Sports Center  — Iacon pretended itself above such things as pit fighting and death spectacle; gladiators fighting in Iacon fought to disarm only… in the  _ official  _ arena, anyway. There were always other venues, of course, and the second flyer advertised Megatron’s planned appearance at one of  _ them _ for an unsanctioned rally.

“Yes,” Optimus acknowledged simply, the flyers only serving to confirm what he already knew. There had been a message in the drop box that morning informing him of the same, along with Megatron’s profound hope that he and Orion Pax would be able to see each other in person at last.

“He is going to request a meeting.”

“I am aware.” He already had in a sense, though his wording technically put Optimus in the position of extending the actual invitation. Megatron had made it clear the invitation would be welcome, however, and Optimus was sure he was expecting it. He probably thought he was being polite by letting Orion decide when and where to meet, but it felt less like a consideration and more like a burden given the circumstances.

“You must end this ruse. Already it has gone on far longer than it should have.” Mirage’s usually stoic face was sympathetic. “I blame myself. I should have insisted before you grew close to him.”

How little he knew…  “Nothing you could have said would have changed my will regarding Megatron. It would only have served to sour things between us had you tried.” Optimus smiled ruefully. “This situation is of my own making, and you are in no way responsible for it.”

“It is my duty to advise you—" Mirage began, but Optimus held up a hand to stop him mid-sentence.

“You perform that duty admirably.” Optimus stood from his desk to take the flyers and set them aside to lay a hand on Mirage’s shoulder. “I have yet to find fault in either your service or your dedication.”

Mirage didn’t look comforted; if anything, he looked even more concerned. “What have you been keeping from me?” he asked shrewdly. “I knew this would not be easy for you and expected a certain measure of guilt, but not this much sorrow.” He reached up to take Optimus’ hand and hold it in his own. “Prime  — Optimus,” he said beseechingly. “I am not just your advisor, but your friend. Tell me.”   


“Forgive me.” Optimus bowed his helm in apology. “Yes, you are my friend, but this was something I could not share with anyone.” He squared his shoulders and drew in a deep vent. “Megatron and I have been corresponding outside of our letters to each other,” he admitted at last. “Over the course of our extra communications, the depth of my attachment has become… rather more significant than friendship.”

Mirage’s optics brightened, their light flaring in surprise. “More than …? ” He reset his vocalizer, so caught aback he was having trouble speaking. “When? How?” His expression grew pained. " _Why?"_

Optimus pulled his hand free and turned away, unable to face Mirage as he answered. “I am not sure myself,” he said honestly. “It happened so gradually, like the most natural thing in the world. Before I knew it, I…”  _ I was in love with him.  _ It was far easier to write the words to Megatron than to admit them out loud to Mirage. “It is hardly important,” he finished evasively. “What is relevant is that it  _ is. _ ”

“And cannot be!” Mirage came around to look at Optimus again. This time the Prime didn’t turn away. “Please, understand me when I say this  — were it up to you alone and there were no ramifications other than your happiness, I would rejoice for you!” His voice and field were both sincere and forceful, surprising Optimus with their vehemence. "But you are the _Prime,_ " he continued sadly, all the burdens and responsibilities inherent in the title layering the word. “Your actions are not purely your own.”

“I know they are not,” Optimus sighed. “Perhaps it is for the best that it is not likely to matter soon.”

“Because Megatron will be angry and cease talking with you when he learns of your deception?”

Optimus said nothing. He didn’t need to.

“You owe it to him,” Mirage said after a moment of silence. “You owe him the truth, if for no other reason than out of respect for your feelings for him. Especially if he feels the same.”

Mirage was right. Even if it would be difficult, it was the only honorable thing left for him to do. Still. “I did not expect you to say something like that,” Optimus said slowly.

A small smirk quirked the corner of Mirage’s lips. “You thought, perhaps, that I would suggest Orion Pax should disappear without a word or trace?” His expression changed to one of chagrin. “If that would truly be the end of it, I would advise precisely that. However, if Megatron has become as emotionally involved in this as you have,” and the look on Mirage’s face said he’d noticed Optimus hadn’t refuted Megatron sharing his feelings, “then he would search for him if he vanished. He has capable mechs working for him who could locate the  _ real  _ Orion Pax and learn what happened to him.”

All too true, Optimus knew. Megatron had spoken often and highly of his lieutenant’s skills in intelligence. Soundwave  _ would  _ find Orion Pax, if Optimus didn’t tell Megatron himself. “And it would be an even larger scandal then than if he decides to make things difficult now.”

“Indeed. At least this way we can control the setting so it remains private, and make any arrangements necessary to guarantee his silence on the matter.”

“We?” Optimus looked at Mirage questioningly.

“Of course,” Mirage said firmly. “I agreed to help you with this charade and I will see it through to the end, regardless of what end either of us had hoped for.” His shoulders slumped slightly in what was for him a dramatic gesture. “I will do whatever I can to make sure things go as smoothly as possible, even if it winds up costing a great deal.”

“You think that is a possibility?” Knowing Megatron as he did, Optimus wasn’t entirely sure he would accept monetary compensation for a personal betrayal.

“I do,” Mirage nodded. “You have been hiding your involvement with a known subversive, corresponding under a pseudonym. He could use that to blackmail you, demanding a large amount of money in exchange for not making that information public. Although,” he said critically, “he might prefer to demand you take a public stand in support of his cause instead.” He seemed to think the latter scenario was more likely once he said it, and Optimus had to agree.

At least that was something he was willing to do to try to make amends…

“Tell him you will meet him in the Archives, the west wing, the evening he arrives,” Mirage interrupted Optimus’ morose thoughts. “I will ensure you are alone and have enough time to say your hellos.”

_ And our goodbyes. _ He knew it was the most likely outcome, yet in his spark Optimus couldn’t help the fragile hope that this could be a new beginning, rather than an end.

***

Megatron was elated when Orion’s invitation arrived, asking if Megatron would be able to come to the Archives to see him after his work on his first night in Iacon. Since Soundwave was handling the schedule and travel arrangements, Megatron brought it up with him to check before confirming with Orion.

He was surprised when Soundwave hesitated, though he was reluctant to give a reason. “You don’t think we should meet,” Megatron realized after a moment, taking in his reticent second’s closed off stance. “Why? He is my friend and our ally.”

“Business: not part of reasoning,” Soundwave answered, daring Megatron to refute the statement. “Megatron: desires  _ personal  _ meeting. Orion Pax and Megatron: more than  _ friends." _

Megatron sighed. He should have known; it was almost impossible to hide things from Soundwave. “You know about our drop box, I take it?”

A silent nod was his reply.

“And you have read our messages.” It wasn’t a question. If Soundwave had found the drop box, then of course he had gone through the contents. Megatron was more offended by the breach of privacy on Orion’s behalf than his own. For his part, he was more curious why Soundwave hadn’t confronted him over the drop box right after discovering its existence.

“Soundwave: began running background check after reading messages.” His vocals were flat and devoid of emotion as usual, but there was a thread of concern in his EM field. “Findings: troubling.”

“What findings?” That didn’t sound good. Had something happened to Orion? Why hadn’t Soundwave told him sooner if he knew how Megatron felt about him?

“Research: only recently returned conclusive data,” Soundwave said, answering the unspoken question. “Soundwave: wanted to be sure.”

Which meant he  _ had  _ discovered something that concerned him and had kept it to himself while he continued digging. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good news. Megatron felt his spark constrict. “You have been trying to spare my feelings. Were you hoping you were wrong? That you wouldn’t need to tell me after all when you finished looking into him?”

Another silent gesture, this time a single, deliberate helmshake. “No. Soundwave: hoped  _ Orion  _ would tell Megatron.”

“Tell me what, Soundwave?” Megatron wrestled with his impatience. Soundwave was being cagier than usual and it was putting him on edge. “I need to know before I meet him.”

“Megatron: cannot meet Orion Pax.”

“I can and I mean to,” Megatron said with steel in his voice.

“Megatron: misunderstands,” Soundwave clarified calmly. “Orion Pax: does not exist. Designation: an alias.”

That brought Megatron up short. “An alias?” he repeated, stunned. “An alias for whom?”

He watched as Soundwave scanned their surroundings, confirming that they were completely alone. That told Megatron without anything even being said that whomever he had been writing to, it was someone  _ important.  _ Someone for whom an alias was the only way  _ to  _ write to someone like him. But who?

Soundwave finished his sweep of the room. “Orion Pax,” he said gravely, drawing himself up to his full height, “former name of Archivist chosen by the Matrix.”

Megatron felt his spark skip a beat.

“Orion Pax—”

“—is Optimus Prime,” Megatron finished the sentence, suddenly feeling faint. He wasn’t aware of sitting down, only realizing he had done so when he finally registered the frantic digits on his arm and saw Soundwave had moved to kneel anxiously in front of him.

He wanted to reassure him, but his thoughts and feelings were too chaotic to form a coherent sentence in his processor, much less out loud. For a long moment Megatron could do nothing but sit in silence, gripping Soundwave’s hand.

Then, at last, he began to laugh.

***

The Archives were quiet as Optimus waited on the appointed date for Megatron to arrive. He had sent a message saying that he would be able to make the date and that Soundwave would be accompanying him as his guard. Since Optimus had Mirage with in him in the same capacity, he wasn’t concerned by that. It would be easier to have them both present to work things out when the truth was revealed.

Usually the Archives were a place of peace and tranquility for Optimus, but today the atmosphere felt thick and heavy, almost oppressive. For the first time in his life he felt uncomfortable inside its walls, wishing he could be anywhere else. If Mirage hadn’t been there with him, patiently waiting as the seconds ticked down, he just might have fled.

Mirage would not be the only witness to his shame if he did, however. Primus would be a witness as well, and to disappoint Him anymore than he surely already had… Optimus felt an unexpected wave of comfort emanating from the Matrix, and his resolve hardened. He would  _ not _ disappoint Him. He would not give in to his fear, he would own up to his mistakes and do whatever he could to make amends, even if it cost him the regard, friendship, and love of the mech he had come to treasure more than anything in the world.

“Relax,” Mirage admonished softly. Optimus realized he had started pacing and stopped, forcing himself to stand still. “It will be over soon  — they have just entered the Archives. Listen.”

Optimus did, and heard the heavy, even tread of a large mech walking through the halls. He turned toward the door, drawn as though by a magnet. He didn’t notice Mirage melding back into the stacks, giving the illusion that he was alone. All his attention was on the approaching visitor. His spark spun wildly in his chest as the Matrix pulsed faster and faster beside it.

When Megatron finally stepped into the room, a sense of  _ rightness  _ resonated through Optimus. It seemed for a moment there was an aura of light surrounding the powerful warrior, and Optimus had to blink to reset his optics. He missed Megatron’s slender shadow breaking away to linger behind in the hall as the light faded, no longer visible but still somehow  _ present. _

What was he supposed to say?

“Megatron,” he began softly, feeling very uncertain. The face framed by that silver helmet was impassive, unreadable, and devastatingly handsome. He started to walk toward him and then froze as those brilliant optics locked onto him, helpless as Megatron finished closing the distance between them.

“Orion Pax,” Megatron rumbled, even though there was no way he could have mistaken the mech in front of him for anyone but Cybertron’s current Prime. He stopped just in front of Optimus so that he had to look  _ up  _ to meet his gaze. Optimus wasn’t a short mech; most of the Senate and the priesthood stood at his eye level or shorter. Megatron, on the other hand, was a full head taller, possibly even a little more. It was a novel experience.

Time stood still as they regarded each other for one long, intense moment. Then Megatron smiled, and Optimus felt his spark practically stop in his chest.

“So nice to finally meet you,” Megatron said, no trace of anger or hint of sarcasm in his voice as he lifted his hands to Optimus’ shoulders. “Optimus Prime.”

_ He already knew.  _ Optimus felt his face heat with embarrassment. “Yes,” he managed to say through his surprise. “How did you—”

Megatron raised a clawed digit to rest against his lips, stopping him gently. “I know why you didn’t tell me,” he said, still smiling. “Once I found out, I knew you intended to with this meeting, even believing I would be angry about the lie. But tell me, Orion,” and Optimus shivered to hear that name in that voice, “when did you lie to me? Everything you said in your letters was true.”

Optimus stared in amazement. Megatron had not only found out about his deception, but forgiven him for it? “I never set out to lie to you,” he began, trying to explain, to apologize, but once more Megatron stopped him.

“What you told me about your beliefs and passions was true,” he said, stroking his fingers along the side of Optimus’ helm. “All of your hopes and fears, your desire to help others, your concern that you would not live up to your responsibilities; all true.” He tipped his chin up the tiniest fraction more, and Optimus leaned toward him unconsciously. “Even your name: Orion Pax. That was not a lie either.” Megatron lowered his helm until they were only inches apart. “You  _ were  _ and  _ are  _ Orion Pax, just as you are Optimus Prime, and I’d wager you have let me know that mech better and more intimately than anyone else ever has.”

“You do,” Optimus breathed. “I did not expect… I thought you would think less of me, that you would no longer want anything to do with me,” he admitted shakily.

“Believe me,” Megatron grinned, “ _less_ is not at all what I want to do with you.”

Optimus didn’t get a chance to ask what he meant by that. It was made unmistakably clear as Megatron pulled him in for a kiss, his lips met Optimus’ parted ones and pressing gently, questioningly for all his apparent confidence. He was seeking permission, and Optimus gave it gladly.

Restraint gave way and he threw himself into the kiss and the arms of the mech holding him. Optimus felt Megatron lifting him, bringing his feet up off the floor as he pulled him in deeper. He shuttered his optics against the onslaught of feeling but could not escape the light of their sparks reaching for each other. Unable to merge through closed plating, they nonetheless recognized what Primus had always known  — that they were each the other’s perfect match.


	4. Faith in the Face of Adversity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The opposition waiting in the wings descends, but Optimus and Megatron are determined to find a way to win everyone over.

Lost in the moment and each other, Optimus and Megatron were oblivious to their audience. They had completely forgotten their respective guards, who were watching together in stunned silence. Mirage had just joined Soundwave in the hall and nodded a quiet acknowledgment to his counterpart when Megatron had initiated the kiss. It was so unexpected that neither of them was able to move. That passionate embrace hardly counted as ending things as far as either of them were concerned.

The spell broke when the kiss ended. Soundwave and Mirage both rushed forward at once, shocked exclamations bursting from them simultaneously.

“Megatron!”

“Prime!”

Megatron set Optimus down, though neither made any move to step away from the other. Optimus continued to stand close, leaving Megatron’s arm around him as he gestured with his own to begin making introductions. “Megatron, this is my close friend and advisor, Mirage. His family has served the Temple for generations. Mirage, Megatron.”

“Greetings,” Megatron said cordially, then nodded to Soundwave. “My assistant, confidante and former lieutenant, Soundwave.”

“Welcome to Iacon,” Optimus said evenly. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Soundwave didn’t say anything, but there was no mistaking his closed off posture as anything friendly. It didn’t appear to bother Optimus however, nor did it surprise Megatron.

“A pleasure to meet you as well,” Mirage said diplomatically before the silence could drag out too long, directing his words to Megatron. “Forgive me, but might I have a moment alone with the Prime?”

“Gone off script, has he?” Megatron chuckled. “Very well. I suspect that Soundwave would like to speak with me as well.”

“Affirmative,” came the flat response. Soundwave was  _ not  _ pleased, and not afraid to show it.

“You do not need to go far.” Optimus still hadn’t let go of Megatron. “We have more to discuss as well.”

“That we do.” Slowly Megatron released the Prime so he and Mirage could trade places. He glanced down at the much smaller noble as he passed him before turning his attention to Soundwave. Let the mech say what he would to Optimus; Megatron knew they were of one will.

Leaving the two to their private discussion, Megatron ushered Soundwave over to the side of the room to address his subordinate’s disapproval. “You were still hoping I would change my mind, weren’t you? Despite knowing I had no intention of doing so.”

“Optimus Prime:  _ lied  _ to Megatron,” Soundwave hissed quietly, more emotional than Megatron had seen him in a long time. “Hid behind alias. Pretended to be our ally.”

“That last was no pretense,” Megatron corrected. “All the data he sent was real and you yourself admitted it was extremely valuable. What does it matter what name was signed to his letters?”

Soundwave shook his helm. “Could have done more. Did not do all he could for the cause.”

“Because he didn’t use his influence as the Prime to help us?” Megatron frowned. “Disguising his involvement allowed him to do  _ more  _ to aid us, not less. You know as well as I do the Primacy doesn’t carry much weight with the Senate right now. Optimus is too new a Prime, still struggling to overcome the failings of his predecessor. The Temple is not as powerful as it once was.”

“Temple: ineffective.  _ Prime, _ ineffective.” Soundwave turned to look at Optimus where he and Mirage were quietly engaged in conversation near one of the tall library stacks, facelessly glaring. “Unworthy.”

“Of what? His title? Or of me?” Unlike Soundwave, Megatron was making no effort to speak quietly, though he didn’t deliberately raise his voice either. “You do not give him enough credit. He is fighting a long battle the same as we are. Results do not happen overnight. It is an uphill struggle to reverse a decline that occurred over vorns, a struggle he is genuinely dedicated to.”

“Then leave Prime to his work!” Soundwave said imploringly. “Megatron has  _ his  _ work. Does not  _ need  _ Prime. Does not need  _ distractions." _

“Is that what you think he is?” Megatron drew himself to his full height. “Do you think I would sacrifice our objectives simply to pursue a personal interest? That I would abandon everything we have worked for so easily? I had thought better of you.” 

Soundwave flinched at the disappointment in Megatron's voice but remained defiant. “Soundwave: not implying Megatron would give up. Suggesting Megatron would do better alone. Splitting focus, detrimental to end results.”

“Am I to sacrifice everything then?” Megatron sighed, relaxing his posture. “I am committed to the fight Soundwave, I assure you. But even soldiers rest between battles. We must  _ live  _ as well as fight, or there is nothing to fight  _ for. _ ” He tapped one clawed hand against his chest, the sound of metal on metal ringing in the air between them. “I want to live.”

“Megatron:  _ deserves  _ to live,” Soundwave agreed quickly, though he still did not back down. “But this  — he — is a  _ mistake! _ ”

“So it’s not that I shouldn’t be with anyone at all,” Megatron pressed, “just not with Optimus specifically. Why? How is he a mistake?”

For the first time Soundwave hesitated. Megatron folded his arms and waited. 

“Optimus Prime: not one of us,” Soundwave answered at last, finally revealing the root of the problem — the same problem he’d had with Orion Pax. 

“You still don’t think he can fully understand us, understand me, even after all our letters.”  Dawning comprehension filled Megatron with frustration, but also sympathy. This was about more than Soundwave looking after their political interests, it was him trying to look out for him as a friend. He couldn’t be angry with him for that, though he wished that Soundwave had gotten over that prejudice. “Are you afraid that will eventually come between us? That our backgrounds make us too different and I will wind up being hurt?”

“Soundwave’s duty: help Megatron.  _ Protect _ Megatron.”

“I do not need protection from this.” Not only was being with Optimus not a mistake,  _ not  _ being with him would be the biggest mistake of Megatron’s life. He knew it from the depths of his spark. Unfortunately there was nothing he could say to explain his certainty. Nothing that would convince Soundwave, anyway. The mech held no stock in the Temple or the gods. His only faith was in Megatron... and that faith appeared to be wavering.

“I appreciate your concern Soundwave, truly. I do. But I must ask you, please,” Megatron said in a controlled voice, not-quite-begging his friend. “If you cannot trust him, trust  _ me. _ ”

Across the room, Optimus was asking the same of Mirage. At least he had the benefit of his advisor being able to see things from his point of view, even if he still thought his desired course of action was unwise. “I know this is right. Please, trust me. It is more than a passing infatuation or reading too much into a sympathetic audial and pretty lines of poetry. Mirage,” he said, still sounding a bit awestruck, “our sparks  _ resonate _ with each other.”

“Spark resonance is a rare and wonderful thing,” Mirage agreed calmly, “but as I told you before, while I am not against the idea of love you do have responsibilities. Sometimes we have to deny our desires for the sake of our duties. You are the Prime! You do not have the same luxuries as any other mech.”

“I am still allowed to take a bondmate, however.” After what he had just felt, the thought of anything less was unthinkable. What did it matter that casual liaisons weren’t an option for him? Megatron wouldn’t be satisfied with such an arrangement either, Optimus was sure. “He is the other half of my spark.”

“Optimus!” Somehow Mirage managed to combine shock and scolding into the single word. “It is not that simple! The bondmate of the Prime is the Lord High Protector, a position as bound in duties and responsibilities as the Primacy. It is not an easy role to fill.”

“No mech would make a better Lord High Protector than Megatron.”

“That is not your decision to make,” Mirage argued.

“Is it not?” Optimus asked archly. He felt some satisfaction at seeing Mirage wince.

“Perhaps that was a poor choice of words,” Mirage amended hastily. “I apologize. What I  _ ought  _ to have said is that it is not your decision  _ alone.  _ The appointment of the Lord High Protector requires the approval of both the council of priests and the Senate in addition to your own.”

“Does the word of the Matrix mean nothing to them?” The artifact hummed even now with affirmation beneath Optimus’ plating. “Is Primus’ vote that he is worthy not sufficient?”

“It would sway the former,” Mirage allowed, “but the Senate cannot consider religious testimony in their deliberations. Even with your word of it being a true blessing, they would have to consider him for the position from a secular standpoint only.”

Under normal circumstances Optimus would have said that restriction was a sound one. While the thought that a Prime would claim something was ordained by Primus when it really wasn’t was blasphemous to him, he knew there had been those in the past who had done just that to justify what they wanted. The only time the Senate took blessings into account was when there was visible proof, and that proof was hard to come by. The Matrix glowed for all to see upon the selection a new Prime, for instance, but not upon encountering two sparks perfectly suited to one another . Optimus was the only one who could see the light that had surrounded Megatron, the only one who could feel the sense of  _ destiny  _ about their meeting.

Which was problematic, given Megatron’s recent political history. Even some of the priests on the council would be reluctant to support Optimus taking a revolutionary ex-soldier-turned-gladiator as his bondmate. His own advisor was still trying to talk him out of it, even though he knew how Optimus felt… but perhaps that was what he was missing. Optimus had told Mirage how he felt personally, but not what he felt as the Prime.

“Let me make something clear,” he said serenely, speaking from his spark, “the Matrix  _ does  _ approve of Megatron.” He hadn’t been Prime long enough to have made a declaration like this before, but the words rang with truth as he said them. “It is the will of Primus that he become the Lord High Protector.”

Mirage’s EM field flared in surprise. He regarded Optimus carefully, and the Prime saw his resistance soften as he took in what he’d said.  “I would never contradict the will of Primus, especially if it is what you both truly desire. I want you to be happy,” he said quietly, his tone free of any condemnation. “Though it is my job to warn you of the difficulties you will encounter in attempting to see this through.”

“Yes it is, and I am as always glad of your assistance,” Optimus said with a smile. “But it is also your job to help me find a way to handle those difficulties.”

“Indeed.” Mirage’s optic flickered with the barest of winks. “In that case, might I suggest beginning with asking the mech in question his opinion on a formal arrangement? You should be in agreement, and finding a way to convince the Senate will not matter if Megatron is not just as willing as you are.”

“But I am,” Megatron said, coming over as though his name had summoned him. Soundwave followed close behind, looking somewhat subdued but still conflicted. “Assuming, of course, that I have overheard correctly and you are discussing my willingness to court you.”

“You did,” Optimus confirmed, turning happily to face Megatron. His spark spun faster in his chest. “Though we were specifically discussing whether you would entertain the idea of being my Lord High Protector.”

“Consider the idea entertained and accepted,” Megatron smiled. “I did some research before coming here when I learned who you were. I know what it would involve and am honored you think I am worthy of it. It wasn’t something I was sure you would be willing to talk about so soon after only our first meeting, but since you bring it up…” He took Optimus’ hands in his and held them tenderly. “Forgive what may seem like undue haste on my part, but I’ve learned in the course of my career that life can be short. I know what is in my spark and see no reason to deny it or hesitate to act on it.”

Optimus couldn’t agree more. “Then… are you proposing?” he asked, hope naked in his voice.

“No!”

Three pairs of optics turned to Soundwave at his sudden outburst. 

“No,” he repeated more calmly, though no less adamantly. “Senate: will never approve Prime’s choice. Followers, will never approve  _ Megatron’s  _ choice. Courtship: pointless.”

“You know me better than to believe I would back down from a challenge,” Megatron said warningly. “I asked you to trust me, Soundwave.”

“Soundwave: did not think Megatron would rush into this!”

“Meaning, you thought you would have more time to talk me out of it,” Megatron interpreted, “to convince me that it will be too difficult and not worth the effort.”

“There will be obstacles, of course,” Optimus joined in passionately, “but that does not mean we should give up without even trying.”

“Soundwave is right that there will be mechs opposed to a bond between you,” Mirage pointed out, temporarily glossing over the fact that Soundwave himself was one of those mechs.

Soundwave went with it, trying another approach. “Senate: does not condone Megatron’s activities. Will not approve union with the Prime.”

“Some of them will,” Optimus countered. “Some will acquiesce once the council of priests has given their approval, regardless of the separation they are supposed to maintain.” Then he sighed, acknowledging reality. “There is only so much that can be done to persuade the rest, however. It could be vorns before we are able to win them all over.” 

The idea of waiting so long chafed at Optimus, and it obviously pleased Megatron even less. “Does the vote need to be unanimous?” he asked. “Senator Ratbat will never side in my favor.”

“Nor in mine,” Optimus agreed. “We do not need a unanimous consensus, no, but Senator Ratbat will put everything he has into preventing us from getting a majority. He does not want to see the Temple revived, believing it would diminish his own power and influence, and he stands to lose a great deal if certain reforms of yours were ever to pass.” It was why he had been working so hard to get Megatron and his movement discredited as subversives and arrested, as well as undermining Optimus wherever possible. “He would see the two of us together as his worst nightmare.”

“I don’t care to wait until he retires to have you,” Megatron rumbled. Optimus felt a flush of heat at the possessive words. “Is there a way of getting around the Senate? Some historical precedent we could use?”

“We can look into it.” Mirage gestured to the library around them. “It is only a matter of finding it if it exists, though there will be less time available for research with the Prime’s responsibilities for the upcoming Festival.”

The upcoming Festival… the Festival of the Five, the main event of which was a Challenge honoring one of the five members of the Guiding Hand. Whoever bested the Challenge became the Champion of its patron god, blessed in a ceremony presided over by the Prime and granted a boon: their choice of mate, to court for a year or to bond with during the closing ceremonies of the Festival, depending on the Chosen’s willingness. No one on Cybertron could deny the Champion that right, no matter who won or who was Chosen.

There was a beat of silence as all four mechs reached the same conclusion.

“No!” Optimus and Soundwave said at almost the exact time while Mirage and Megatron both said, “Yes!”

“Why not?” Megatron immediately asked, Optimus’ objection surprising him. “Half of Cybertron is convinced that I plan to participate already. As long as we don’t reveal this meeting no one will have any idea who I plan to Choose. They won’t have a chance to try to stop me.”

“It is too dangerous!” Optimus shook his helm. “I would rather fight with the Senate, however long it takes, than have you risk your spark in a trial by combat.”

“As I do every time I enter the gladiatorial arena, and for far less reward?” Megatron frowned. “You wrote in your letters that us finding each other was fate. How can you believe that and not have faith in my victory?”

“It is the will of Primus,” Mirage chimed in, echoing Optimus’ earlier words. “He is sure to win if he has the god’s blessing.”

“The Festival honors different members of the Guiding Hand in turns,” Optimus protested. “Primus’ blessing does not guarantee that of Mortilus.” And it was the Festival of Mortilus that was approaching now, following on the Festival of Primus 50 vorns prior. Unlike the Challenge of Primus, which was a simple race, the Challenge of Mortilus was a tourney where competitors faced off against each other in single combat. Battles could sometimes ended in surrender, but other times the Death-bringer claimed the sparks of those who fell seeking his favor.

“Who better to earn Mortilus’ blessing than the greatest general and gladiator Cybertron has seen in millennia?” Mirage glanced at Megatron, who stood taller as he listed off his many accomplishments. “The timing of the cycle is perfect, Optimus.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Megatron said without fear. “I’ve been a warrior all my life, and Mortilus has seen fit to spare my spark until now. Why, if not this?” He stepped back and gesture grandly. “Let my opponents come! I have as much faith in my god as you have in yours. Once I have proven myself to Him and shown all of Cybertron that this is our destiny, no one will be able to gainsay us.”

“Megatron: so sure of destiny?” Soundwave spoke up again as Optimus started to waver, coming forward to face his leader. “Willing to risk death for  _ faith? _ ” He said the word like a curse, a reflection of his opinion of religion in general and Megatron siding with it.

“Yes,” Megatron answered, calm and steady. “It’s not the outcome I would prefer, but my belief is that strong.” He squared his shoulders and looked directly at his friend and second. “Allow me to prove it to you  — enter the Challenge with me.”

“What?!”

Megatron held up a hand to forestall any arguments. “Enter with me and fight for what you believe is right. If I am forced to yield, I will accept my defeat and withdraw my suit until I can convince you; if I win, you will respect the traditions of the Festival and say nothing further against our bonding. Whether you believe in the gods or not, you will abide by their blessing.” He offered his upraised hand out to Soundwave. “What do you say?”

Optimus watched while Soundwave debated. He could feel reassurance from Mirage at his side, and from  _ another _ source as well. It helped to quiet his fears so he could let in how important this was to Megatron, how committed he was to seeing it through. He believed in the gods, yes, but their blessing meant far less to him than Soundwave’s did. Optimus could respect that. He knew how close their friendship was and how much they meant to each other. Silently he hoped that this would be enough to sway Soundwave, for Megatron’s sake.

After a long moment, Soundwave slowly reached for Megatron’s hand. “Soundwave: will not hold back,” he said, somewhere between a warning and a promise.

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” Megatron assured him. Their hands clasped together tightly, sealing the deal. “It would be meaningless if you did.”

That was it then  —  everything would be decided in the Challenge of Mortilus. All they could do now was wait for it to arrive.


	5. The Challenge of Mortilus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At long last, it all comes down to this — Festival of the Five and the Challenge of Mortilus.

The roster for the Challenge exploded once Megatron announced his participation. Some entered just to meet him, others wanted the chance to test their skills against him, and inevitably there were those who saw an opportunity to remove a thorn in their side. Death during the Challenge of Mortilus was a common enough occurrence, after all. Megatron was not bothered in the least. Let his political opponents try to use the Festival to settle their grievances  — he would defeat them all.

By the time registration closed, the number of entrants had reached the highest number ever recorded. It left the Festival organizers scrambling to make the necessary adjustments to accommodate so many additional matches into the schedule. A second site had to be established so that multiple matches could take place simultaneously until the numbers had been whittled down, at which point the final matches would all be held in the main arena.

Megatron and Soundwave had returned to Kaon shortly before those preparations began in the city. They had argued on the way about what to tell their followers, Megatron wanting to keep his relationship with the Prime a secret to avoid the risk of complications while Soundwave insisted that it wouldn’t be fair not to allow the others a chance to voice their opinions. In a compromise neither was fully happy with, they finally agreed to tell a limited version of the truth: Megatron was entering the Challenge of Mortilus with an optic toward a match he could not otherwise ask for due to significant political ramifications. However, he would not be revealing the name of the mech he intended to Choose in order to limit any pre-emptive interference from their adversaries.

Unsurprisingly, not everyone was satisfied with that explanation.

“So wait,” Impactor said, “you’ve found someone you want to court, but you won’t tell us who it is?”

“I’ve found someone I want to bond with,” Megatron corrected, “and no, I’m not going to give you his name. It would make him a target. Soundwave has already picked up chatter that someone is reaching out to certain mercenaries to motivate them to enter the Challenge in an attempt to take me down.”

“ _Someone,_ ” Impactor snorted. “Someone like Ratbat?”

“Senator Ratbat: likely responsible. No proof of involvement.”

“No proof yet,” Impactor muttered, but he let it go. “It’s your penpal isn’t it? The one in Iacon? Why would you need to win the Challenge to bond with him?”

“I’m not going to give you his name,” Megatron repeated, “so you can stop guessing.”

“I can stop guessing because I’m right.” Impactor shook his helm in exasperation. “Really Megatron? Why him?”

Megatron sighed. “If you have a problem with it, feel free to enter the Challenge to contest me. You would not be the only one. Just do me the favor of not spreading any rumors.”

Impactor was courteous enough to keep it to himself, though once word got around that both he and Soundwave would be taking part in the Challenge alongside Megatron, other members of their faction signed up as well purely out of solidarity. Megatron didn’t try to dissuade any of them. What did it matter in the end? He had faith in his victory.

That faith held all the way up to the start of the Festival. In fact, as he waited for the opening ceremonies to conclude, Megatron had never felt more at peace before an upcoming battle. He listened in a detached state, words flowing over him without really registering as he began mentally preparing for his first opponent.

The matches had been determined by random lots that would be redrawn after each round of the Challenge. Megatron had been pitted against an Iaconian rotary in the secondary arena while Soundwave and Impactor had been paired against opponents in the main one. Megatron was glad for the separation imposed by the random location assignments. It meant he would not have to confront Soundwave until later on.

It also meant that Optimus would not be personally observing him yet. As the Prime he would be at the main arena for the entirety of the Challenge, but perhaps that was for the best. Megatron might be fighting for Optimus, but he couldn’t afford to be thinking about him now. That time would come later, if the god chose to smile on him.

_ A prayer to Mortilus _

_ Offered up before battle…  _

Megatron meditated on the poem, putting all distractions out of his processor by the time he stepped out to face Whirl.

“Lucky me! Right out of the gate and the famous Megatron is my first opponent!” the mech cackled eagerly. “I was hoping I’d get a chance to fight you.”

“I hope you weren’t looking forward to any other opponents,” Megatron replied, readying his stance, “as this will be your only match.”

“So confident! I like that! But you’re going to have to work for it.” Whirl clacked the enormous pincers on the ends of his arms menacingly. “I’m no pushover!”

Megatron could see the truth of that as soon as the fight began. Whirl moved with a reckless ease that spoke of considerable skill; for all that he was a much lighter weight class, he had plenty of speed and agility to make up for his thinner armor. Still, this battle would be over in a few short blows  — once Megatron managed to land them.

Keeping Whirl in his line of sight, Megatron held his sword defensively. It was almost always better to react than to act and Megatron had no problem waiting for Whirl to give him the advantage. Based on what little he had seen so far, he doubted it would take long.

It didn’t. Whirl came at Megatron in a flurry of spinning blades and stinging invectives. Those claws of his were lethal weapons, but Megatron had his own. He raked at Whirl with them as he parried one-handed, spinning around him in a deceptively quick pivot.

“Woah! Not bad, not bad at all!” Whirl danced away, evading the worst of Megatron’s swipe. Thin lines of energon bloomed on his side, not slowing him down in the slightest. “You move pretty fast for someone your size. Guess you don’t need to get the lead out after all  — but I do!” 

Whirl pulled out a blaster and started firing rapidly. Megatron brought up his arm, configuring his shield to repel the shots  — energy blasts, not bullets as the joke implied, but they still impacted heavily. The recoil of the gun had more effect on Whirl, which made Megatron smile. When he fired again, he would rush him while he was off balance… 

“Eat plasma, buckethead!” Whirl yelled wildly, firing off another round. Megatron ran at him, knocking the shots aside with his shield and then sending the gun itself flying as he dropped his sword to close with Whirl hand to hand.

It wasn’t showy or glamorous; grappling and wrestling wouldn’t have been his choice if Megatron had been concerned about appearances, but he wasn’t. All that mattered was subduing his opponent, forcing him to yield and taking as little damage as possible in the process. There might be medics to avail themselves of between rounds, but that was no reason to get careless.

“Aww, no, come on! Lemme go, get off me!” Whirl clacked his claws uselessly, trying to headbutt Megatron as he pushed him down. He used his larger frame to pin him to the ground, ensuring there was no way he was getting back up unless Megatron let him.

“Do you surrender?”

“Make me!” Whirl spat as continued to struggle beneath him, trying and failing to get any leverage to escape.

“I will, if you insist,” Megatron warned.  He didn’t want to make his first fight a death match, but he wouldn’t shy away from it either. He shifted his grip to bring one hand up around Whirl’s slender neck, the threat unmistakable. Slowly, slowly he tightened his grip until… 

“All right, fine, enough already!” Whirl’s voice came out slightly scratchy from the pressure on his vocalizer, but the words were still clear. “I yield, okay? Lay off!”

Megatron released him immediately, rising to his feet and offering a hand to his opponent. Whirl batted it away and stood on his own, but he wasn’t angry — in fact, he was laughing.

“That was incredible! You’re every bit as good as they say. Better.” The mech didn’t have a face, but Megatron got the impression he was smiling. “I didn’t come here to lose, but I’m glad it was to a mech like you.”

That had gone remarkably well, all things considered. Megatron watched him walk away before heading for the sidelines himself to let the medics see to his scratches. 

***

“He is doing very well,” Mirage told Optimus as the wreckage from the latest fight was cleared away. It hadn’t been a true death match, but the losing mech was on his way to the hospital in critical condition. “Please try to relax.”

“How can I? His opponents become more difficult with each fight, and each one takes a toll on him.”

“The tournament takes its toll on them all. No one left is free of injury or unaffected by fatigue.” 

They would all have a chance for a longer rest now, at least, as the winners from the secondary arena were brought back via transport to the main one. Over half the original competitors had been eliminated. Anyone who lost a match was forced to withdraw, of course, but some winners had dropped out too due to injury. So far neither was the case for Megatron, but his battles grew more challenging with every opponent.

“I do not think I can bear to watch much more of this,” Optimus admitted. Even if he hadn’t had a personal stake in the Challenge, this was not the sort of spectacle he enjoyed. The fact that he  _ did  _ have a personal stake in it only made it worse. “Is there no way for me to absent myself?”

Mirage frowned in thought. “It may be possible for you to step away for a little while, though you will need to come back for the final match.” He offered his arm to Optimus. “Shall we? I am sure those in medical would welcome a visit from their Prime.” Not to mention what it would do for Optimus to see them recovering after watching them try to dismantle each other.

“Yes. Please.” Optimus leapt at the suggestion. He let Mirage lead the way, offering up a quiet prayer as he glanced back over his shoulder.

_ Guard this warrior's spark…  _

***

“MEGATRON! MEGATRON!”

Just like in a regular gladiatorial match, the chanting of the crowd accompanied the tremendous  _ CRASH!  _ of the heavy purple and black cargo hauler hitting the ground as a blast from Megatron’s fusion cannon connected point-blank with his chassis. He didn’t rise again, and Megatron hid a sigh of relief as he raised his arms victoriously. That had been a little too close for comfort… 

He made a beeline for the medics once he left the ring, running into Impactor along the way. “I thought for a second there he had you. Our favorite senator would have been pleased.”

“Don’t go making unfounded accusations,” Megatron warned, though he knew as well as Impactor that Motormaster had been sponsored by  _ someone.  _ His equipment was too expensive, too new, though while it initially gave him an advantage it had ironically wound up being his downfall. He hadn’t had time to fully integrate or get used to fighting with those upgrades and had tired faster than Megatron as a result.

“Right. Unfounded.” Impactor gestured back toward the arena. “Are you sure you want to miss this one? Soundwave’s up against Roadbuster.”

“If I want to be able to take on the victor, yes.” He knew it would be every bit as brutal as what he had just endured without needing to see it. “You can give me the highlights later.”

“Suit yourself,” Impactor shrugged, leaving him to continue to the medbay while he returned to the stands to watch.

Soundwave or Roadbuster… one of the two would be his final opponent. Megatron suspected it would be the former. It felt like fate had been keeping them apart each time lots were drawn, preventing their final confrontation as one by one the others had been eliminated. Impactor lost unexpectedly early on to a young upstart named Springer, who eventually lost to Lugnut. The enormous fighter lost later to the equally massive and impressively devastating Strika. Lugnut had been rather taken with her despite his disappointment over not being able to meet his leader in combat, a fact for which Megatron had been secretly grateful.

He was grateful for some of Soundwave’s takedowns as well. His second had defeated several mechs Megatron hadn’t been eager to face, including the renowned Ironhide. Impactor had joked that Soundwave was just making things easier for Megatron, but the taunt fell flat when Soundwave said calmly that was precisely his intent. He didn’t want Megatron losing to anyone but him. Megatron could appreciate the sentiment; he didn’t want Soundwave losing to anyone but him either.

The announcement came a short while later as a red and white medic grumbled over having to put him back together just so he could ‘go get himself slagged again’. It seemed the god had seen fit to grant their wish — Roadbuster was down. The last match of the Challenge of Mortilus would be between Soundwave and Megatron.

***

There was time for speeches built in before the final showdown to allow both contenders to be seen to by the medical staff to be on as equal footing as possible. Optimus, returned from making his rounds among the injured a few matches prior, was supposed to offer his encouraging remarks along with several other visiting dignitaries. 

He had a prepared statement, something short, to the point, and poignant. As he stood to deliver it, however, he found that the words would not come. They felt cheap in the face of the gravity of what had happened and what was to come. Abandoning them, Optimus spoke instead from his spark.

“The Festival of the Five is a sacred event,” he began. “The gods bless us with their aspects, and the purpose of the Challenges is to remind us of those aspects. To bring them, however briefly, to the forefront of our thoughts.” It had certainly had for him. “In this, the Challenge of Mortilus, we are reminded of the ever-present reality of loss and death. Reminded that despite our struggles, despite our hopes and dreams, we cannot always be victorious.”

The crowd had fallen unusually silent. During the opening ceremonies there had been pockets of quiet whispering, minor distractions and shuffling through in stands. Now, no one dared move or speak. Every optic was fixed on the Prime as though hearing him for the first time.

“Today, we celebrate not just the Champion, but the fallen. As you cheer for a winner, remember the defeated. Remember their sacrifices in effort, in energon. Remember those who gave their sparks in pursuit of their goals.” He paused as the weight of the words settled in the hush. “Mortilus take them and Primus keep them,” he finished softly, letting the quiet prayer fill the arena.

***

There was nothing to differentiate the final match from any preceding it. If it weren’t for the nearly tangible anticipation of the spectators, Megatron might have believed this was just his first battle all over again. That, and the elusive sense of  _ destiny  _ he felt watching Soundwave enter from across the arena… was it visible to Optimus from where he was up above, looking down at them both?

Megatron put the thought firmly from his mind, keeping his face forward as he stepped up to his starting position. He would do better to consider his strategy in what little time remained before the signal to start. It was both an advantage and a  _ dis _ advantage that they knew each other as well as they did — the amount of time they had spent training and fighting together, off-world and at home in battles both mock and real, meant that they each knew the other’s strengths and weaknesses as well as their own. It meant they knew each other’s styles and movesets flawlessly.

Looking at Soundwave, who nodded slightly in acknowledgement of all that was between them in that moment as he took up his own waiting stance, Megatron wondered. How did one win against their shadow?

_ Not by hesitating. _

They moved as one when the signal came to begin, coming together in the center of the arena with a resounding  _ CLANG! _ Excited shouts poured down from the stands as glowing sparks flew around them from every point of contact. Sword met shield met sword, Megatron’s heavy blade against Soundwave’s lighter one. Back and forth in a rapid exchange of blows that ended when both of them pulled back a space, ending the first exchange in a draw.

Not pausing for long, Megatron rushed at Soundwave and began chasing him along the north side of the field. Soundwave dodged the series of running steps and lunges, ducking and weaving out of range of Megatron’s long-reaching strokes before darting in between them to try to sneak in a few hits of his own. They both managed to mark each other lightly before breaking off and starting again.

Megatron had to smile as he caught the beginning of a familiar set of moves. He sensed a ripple of frustration in Soundwave’s EM field as he recognized the sequence too. Now that they were committed to it there was only one outcome possible: soon their swords bound up together, impossible to free without creating an opening for another attack.

In a silent accord they let go of their weapons at the same time, leaving them to fall to the ground.  _ Anger  _ buffeted Megatron as Soundwave charged, reversing their direction across the arena. The broad planes of his arms served Soundwave well for both defense and offence. Megatron’s fists glanced along the flat surfaces, claws alternately ringing and screeching against the metal while the hard edges struck mercilessly at him. It was violent, frenzied… much less controlled than Megatron was used to coming from him.

Soundwave wasn’t usually an emotional fighter. That was Megatron who, despite everything, still felt uncharacteristically calm. The audience he would usually draw strength from faded into the background, irrelevant. Nothing else mattered but the two of them, their history together and the disagreement that had come between them.

“This fight: not about a  _ disagreement!” _ Soundwave spoke suddenly for the first time since the Festival began,  _ hurt  _ filling his field. “This fight is about  _ trust!”  _

“Yes it is!” Megatron agreed, blocking yet another blow. “I asked you to trust me, to follow my lead!”

“Megatron: agreed to trust  _ Soundwave  _ too! To listen to advice!”

With the danger posed by the sword gone, Soundwave unfurled armored datacables to lash out at Megatron, battering at his helm and shoulders. Megatron retaliated by grabbing for them with clawed hands, squeezing down painfully any time he managed to gain purchase before Soundwave pulled them free.

Eventually they reached an impasse and drew apart once more, fans and engines straining. Even Soundwave’s normally quiet systems whined as exhaustion, heat buildup and earlier injuries pushed him to his limit. He didn’t have much left in him, but he clearly wasn’t ready to give up yet.

Leaping up, Soundwave took to the air and folded into alt-mode. He flew a couple circling flybys, his shots and Megatron’s hasty return fire both going wide before he swung around and lined up for final a head-on strafing run. Megatron braced his feet in the hard sand of the arena floor and levelled his arm at the sky.

The air crackled with energy. Megatron flinched as some of Soundwave’s shots connected, but the static shriek above told him he had done better. Soundwave tumbled to the ground, rolling back into root form. His left arm and shoulder were blackened and sparking, but he somehow managed to get to his feet.

Megatron began walking slowly toward him. “You are beaten,” he said, cannon raised. “Yield.”

For a long moment time seemed to hang suspended. Then, at last, Soundwave sank down on his knees and bowed his helm. “Soundwave: yields.”

The crowd erupted into cheers.

Megatron lowered his cannon and placed his hand on Soundwave’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he said warmly, then helped his lieutenant to stand. Soundwave's EM field was a tangle of emotions, but underlying it all was _acceptance,_ not _resignation._ Megatron had heard him, had honored him with the battle, and he would abide by its outcome.

Megatron hoped that, in time, he would even be content with it.

Typically at that point things devolved into a citywide celebration. The ceremony where the Prime bestowed the blessing of the Festival god to the new Champion and offered him his choice came later. Already the medical crew were at the sidelines motioning Megatron and Soundwave over so they could either whisk them away or clear them for the upcoming revelry.

“Go,” Megatron instructed Soundwave, nodding in their direction. “I have something to attend to first.”

When he turned to look for Optimus, Megatron saw his intended’s optics already fixed on him. He smiled and began making his way across the floor, slow and steady as though pulled by an inexorable tide. Optimus seemed to be caught in it as well, descending through the stands until they met at the edge.

“Congratulations, Champion.” The words were soft but genuine, echoing in an arena gone suddenly silent once again.

Megatron reached up to cup Optimus’ face in his hands. “You were worth fighting for, Orion.”

The loudest cheer yet went up as they leaned forward into a kiss. Neither of them heard it; oblivious to everything around them, Optimus and Megatron savored the feeling of their sparks beating as one.

_ Spark of my spark _

_ My brother _


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Festival of the Five closes with a traditional bonding ceremony.

After the kiss they’d shared in front of the entire audience at the arena, not to mention hundreds of media mechs, there wasn’t anyone on all of Cybertron who didn’t know that Optimus and Megatron were going to bond. It made the Champion announcing his Choice before the crowd a bit redundant, though Optimus bestowing Mortilus’ blessing had still been meaningful. It was Optimus’ first Festival blessing, the first time he’d felt the familiar light of Primus overshadowed by a different presence in his spark. A cool glow eclipsed it, consuming his awareness as it gathered and filled him, and Megatron, who had been kneeling in front of him so Optimus could lay his hands on his shoulders, told him afterward that he had seen and felt it as well  — and recognized it.

Now, though… now it was just the two of them. The presence of the gods had faded, the Matrix strangely quiescent after its earlier enthusiasm. It felt like a gift to Optimus, to be aware of no presence other than Megatron’s at his side. 

Perhaps it was.

The expected uproar over their decision would continue past the end of the Festival, naturally, but there was nothing they could do to stop the bonding ceremony. Normally the Prime would be the one to officiate, to recite the sacred words and lead the couple through their vows, but in this case Optimus had asked Mirage to do the honors. The noble priest had been surprised and would have turned him down, but Megatron had insisted as well. Mirage had given in at that point, agreeing that if it truly meant that much to them both (and if they agreed to placate the High Priest), then he would gladly perform the ceremony.

Resplendent in his ceremonial paint and vestments, Mirage stood at the center of the Festival dais with the happy couple and their primary witness. Optimus had been uncertain after how vehemently he had been opposed before, but Soundwave had accepted without hesitation when Megatron asked him to stand with them. He didn’t need to have faith in the gods, he claimed, to have faith in their proven conviction and dedication to each other. 

The injuries Soundwave had taken in the Challenge had all been mended, though unlike Mirage the only cosmetic concession he’d made for the occasion was a clean paint job and fresh polish. Megatron had either followed his lead or, more likely, set the trend by refusing any fancy decorations himself. Optimus too had gone with minimal ornamentation. He felt it was more true to the mech he still was beneath his title. That was who he wanted them to be when they bonded  — not the Prime and Lord High Protector, but simply Megatron and Orion Pax.

Optimus certainly  _ felt  _ more like Orion Pax than the Prime right now. There was enough nervous energy buzzing through his lines that he thought it really ought to be generating visible sparks. He wasn’t processing a word Mirage was saying, though fortunately having performed numerous bonding ceremonies himself he had the speech memorized and could jump in on his lines without much prompting.  _ Much. _ He was still distracted enough for Mirage to be amused; he could see it in his optics as he drew to the conclusion of his speech and gestured for them to turn and face each other and consummate their vows.

The nobility and dignitaries, politicians and priests all gathered around the dais watched as they came together. Surrounded by their entourages and security, some were disapproving, others quietly cheering as the Champion and his Chosen parted chest seams. Optimus and Megatron were indifferent to them all. The only approval their sparks sought as plating moved aside to allow their coronas to expand was from each other.

Megatron brought his hands up to rest on Optimus’ shoulders, steadying him as he trembled slightly. Since Megatron was taller he stood slightly away and leaned forward over Optimus to bring their sparks closer together, smiling at the first brush of contact.

Optimus had no idea what his expression looked like. He couldn’t feel his face.

_ Jubilation  _ flared in the tentative bridge of energy between them, the desire and joy flowing between them perfectly mutual. Arching his back and bringing his hands up to Megatron’s arms, Optimus pulled himself upward, impatient. He wanted to feel Megatron as a part of him, to  _ be _ a part of him!

A rumbling chuckle rolled down his frame from the mech above him, though the feeling accompanying it was more akin to awe than humor.  _ Is this… am  _ I  _ truly what you want? _

Optimus’ spark flared at the words, pouring all the sincerity and love it held into his reply.  _ Yes! Never doubt it. Our meeting was the work of the gods, but you chose to lay claim to me as the Champion of Mortilus and I chose to accept. All mechs are free to make their own choices. Those choices make us who we are.  _ He tightened his arms, bringing his chest flush against Megatron’s.  _ And I choose to be yours! _

Past the point of words and even farther beyond any need of them, Megatron’s  _ reciprocation/LOVE  _ engulfed Optimus as their sparks overlapped. His frame faded away, the physical arms around him nothing compared to the energy pulsing through him,  _ merging  _ until they could no longer tell where they began or ended… 

…and they were one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it: true love. Optimus and Megatron still have many struggles ahead of them of course, but they will face them together, with each other and their allies. And that list of allies will only grow. They have a bright future ahead of them (for once! XD) and it's a beautiful thing <3
> 
> Thank you again everyone for reading, and especially thanks to Kiji for commissioning this story! It was wonderful revisiting and adding to this AU (little do our heroes know who they're inspiring in the crowd! One of those security details has a very particular black and white mech among the ranks) *pumps fist* FotF!!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Winner's Choice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13266525) by [SilverScrap](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverScrap/pseuds/SilverScrap)




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